


Rojo

by TheWiseMansFear



Category: Hetalia - Fandom
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-24
Updated: 2017-01-24
Packaged: 2018-09-19 18:02:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 5,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9453419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheWiseMansFear/pseuds/TheWiseMansFear
Summary: It had been a quiet night like this one when he'd first seen the color red, had really, truly seen it. Felt it in his soul, a stain spreading across his heart like it had spilt across the hardwood.





	1. Bastards

**Author's Note:**

> Hi.  
> I don't know where this is going or when it will get started but I'm sure it will contain violence, angst, and a lot of cursing.  
> Ta.

    Flopping down onto the couch, Romano kicked up his feet, resting his boots on the coffee table. Feli hated when he did it, but fuck him, it was comfy. The house was quiet. Empty. It reminded him of long days spent roaming hollow halls. Vines of bitterness wound around his sternum and he fought them back by toppling the stack of coasters by his right foot onto the carpet. The distressed clacking they made satisfied him more than it should have. Unfortunately that only managed to bring to mind the years he'd spent tipping bookshelves and smashing expensive artwork all to hell on the daily.  
     Stupid brain, always thinking about the past, about the shine of green eyes as they looked down at him and the wide smile that only withered away on the darkest occasions. Ah! Dammit! Fuck this. Why did he have such an abundance of feelings?! Useless, stupid, awful feelings. He growled into the dim room and rested his head back on the sofa's floral edge-roll.  
He didn't like being alone and Feli had gone to that Potato-bastard's house again. The guy couldn't take care of himself. Why his brother had to go running the moment the blond idiot had a bad dream, he couldn't comprehend. Or at least he was going to pretend he didn't.  
Stupid. Everything was stupid.  
    A cat jumped into his lap and he stroked it gently, glad for the distraction. There were so many running around that he couldn't recall its name but it was black with white on its paws so Feli had probably named it Socks or Mittens or some stupid cliche shit like that. "I'm renaming you Tomato." He muttered, scratching beneath its chin. No one would expect that. "If any bastard calls you Mittens scratch their face off. "  
Eventually Tomato hopped down and went to seek a more interesting companion. Likely one of the neighbor's purebred whore cats. They were always waving their fluffy tails around looking all snotty in the windows above the patio. Little did they know he'd slit a hole in the screen door. He grinned deviously and fell sideways into the couch cushions, capturing a throw pillow in his arms and pulling it to his chest.  
      It had been a quiet night like this when he'd first seen red, really, truly seen it. Felt it in his soul, a stain spreading across his heart like it had spilt across the hardwood. He didn't want to think about it. Remembering it made him long for the silkiness of that brunette hair and the touch of those soft but murderous hands. Like the blow from his double-headed axe, Spain's haunting presence pierced his resolve.  
He dug his phone from his pocket and stared at it. No missed calls. No texts. No Facebook notifications. Not even any junk mail. Just a picture of a crate of tomatoes as his background. A picture that just so happened to have caught Spain's ass in the top right corner. He held and swiped to get a better look. Damn that tomato-bastard and his tight pants.  
     Opening up a new message, he watched the cursor blink. He knew this was about the time Spain came in from the fields and started on paperwork. He'd have liked to believe the bastard was laying around or partying like he used to but with his economy in recovery even Romano had to give the other country credit. The guy was working hard. Real, honorable work, not the vicious conquering he regretted so profusely.  
      He could almost be proud of the idiot. Which was fucking stupid. It was all his own fault anyway, wasting so much time and money fighting for such a useless thing. His stomach turned and he dropped his phone carelessly to the floor. "Stupid tomato-bastard."  
_Ding! "Would you like me to send to Tomato Bastard?"_  
     Horrified by his phone's drab voice he pushed himself up. "No you monotone-bastard!"  
      " _Alright. Sending now."_  
"No! I said no! You fucking useless android trash!" Frantically he scooped up the device and put it in airplane mode, but it was too late.


	2. Conquistidon't.

     Rain woke him. His body ached as he pushed himself up out of the mud, the smell of the tomato plants making him feel both angry and nostalgic. He hadn't fallen asleep here. The basket of spilled fruit nearby told him that much. Dizziness washed over him as he sat up and he put both palms down flat in the soil to remind his head where the ground was. Had he really fainted? Again?  
     How pathetic.  
     War had been easier. He'd been a fucking empire! Now the only thing he was fighting was his own crummy politics. Used to be, he'd just go out and conquer someone, steal their gold, loot their cities. He felt the itch in his fingertips and took a deep breath. That was not his life anymore. The world was not as simple as it once was. Bloodshed didn't solve things now, unless it was secretly agreed upon and professionally executed.   
      With trembling arms, fatigued from heavy lifting, he picked up the scattered tomatoes and placed the basket on his hip. The moon shone down brightly as if to light his path back to the house, but he could only scowl up at its wide face. That same brilliant rock had seen him colored red time and again, had seen civilizations crumble at his hands. If it could speak, would it spew disappointment? Or praise?   
      He must still be feeling sick.  
      Ditching the tomatoes on the kitchen counter, he tossed his wet clothes in the laundry and made his way through the empty mansion as bare as the walls surrounding him. Things had been so much more lively when Romano had lived here. Now the place was dead, just a stack of dusty bones. He smiled. Not that there hadn't been any dust when Roma had been around. There'd simply been- more. More noise, more mess, more cursing, more excitement.  
Now everything was shit.  
      But he wasn't in any position to request his return and just going out and taking him was no longer acceptable. The world was really lame nowadays. As he took the stairs he had to battle vertigo. Clinging to the rail he waited until his vision straightened out before continuing. When was the last time he'd eaten? He should have snagged a few of the tomatoes but he hadn't been thinking. His legs protested the thought of returning to the kitchen so he resigned himself to hunger.  
      Finally his bedroom was in sight and he trudged through the door, falling harder than Rome into his mattress. Burrowing into his sheets he let out a strangled groan and closed his eyes. As soft as the pillows and as plush as the blankets, even this was not the same without the promise of a certain henchmen shouting profanities at him first thing the next morning.  
      Just how many times has he laid here wounded as his servant tended him? He wished now that he had counted, had struggled those extra few minutes for consciousness even against his little physician's demands. He ran his fingers across the silky cotton and sighed. No matter how many times he returned a cold blooded killer, his sweet Roma had always stayed by his side. Had even defended him.   
Pride and guilt made a strange marriage in his gut and he rolled onto his side, mind filling with old images that never lost their luster, of the first time he'd truly known the color red. After hundreds of years spent painting the planet in it, it had taken just that one horrifying second to come to despise the thought of it.   
      His phone went off and he glowered over at it from his comfy nest. The nightstand seemed miles away but he crossed the distance. His fingers were weak as they grasped the thing and exhaustion was pulling him under even as he read the one word message.   
_Stupid._  
     He tried to reply but managed only to fall asleep grinning.


	3. There's a Light on

_Spain was sobbing. Shaking. Bleeding. The man was desperate. Gasping. Red. "Lo siento. Lo siento, Roma." The conquistador clutched at him, took his hands as if they had some sacred purpose. "Ti amo. Lo siento."  
_ _He couldn't answer. Even if words could move past the boulder in his throat his tongue was too heavy to form them. There was nothing to say. All these years being left alone, all the time spent watching at the windows, every fucking wound, all the pain, it had all been for such a worthless thing, such a useless, stupid, pointless thing._  
 _Why?_  
Romano took a sudden inward breath only to have it mangle in his chest, returning as a twisted broken cry. He felt arms around him, heard a familiar hushing just above him. "Ve~ Fratello, it's just a dream." His brother soothed. "You're not alone. I won't leave you."  
      Damn that Feliciano. But thank the fucking lord for him, too. "Idiot." He murmured, tears running down his face as he buried it in his sibling's chest. "You smell like a stupid potato."   
      "Ve~~" Feli smoothed his hair, thankfully avoiding his curl and he let himself lay there and be comforted. He didn't need to feel shame here, his brother new everything in his heart anyway. The guy always saw right through him, which was crazy for a person who rarely opened his eyes, but he was glad for it. It was good to have someone who knew what was wrong without having to say a word.   
Fresh tears emerged at the thought of Feli being alone someday. Because a person as useless as him would surely end up disappearing. That's why it was stupid for anyone to care about him in the first place. He was just a worthless fucking waste. Grandpa had known it. That's why he'd taken Feli instead.   
"Why don't you go see Spain today? Buy some tomatoes off of him?"  
Why in the ever-loving-shit would he need to do that? They had tomatoes. Dammit. "No."   
"Ve~~ I just thought buying some from him would help him out a little~ You know he's working hard to boost his economy."  
       Yeah, yeah, yeah. He knew. "Just order some. I'm not going over there. And shouldn't you be worrying about your own economy? Let the other bastards fend for themselves."  
Feli pulled his ear. " _Our_ economy."   
Ha. Fucking ha. "Right."   
Appeased, or pretending to be, Feli bounced off the bed and grinned into the morning sunshine like some stupid angel. "I'll make pasta!" He announced, buzzed out of the room and singing his way down the hallway.  
       He, on the other hand, rolled onto his back and scowled at the vehement beams cascading through his window. They only meant another tedious day acting like the busywork his boss had given him held value. How long did he have to live like this? If all he was here for was to feel this depressed why couldn't he just vanish already?   
       Then again, maybe this was what disappearing felt like. Perhaps this consistent malcontent was just part of the process? He held his fingers up and slowly wiggled them in the light. Nope. No fade.   
Holy shit. He needed to get a grip. This was ridiculous. Forcing himself to sit up he glanced around the room and started things off by swatting the water bottle on then nightstand onto the floor.

~~

     "What?" He didn't mean for his words to sound so petulant but the news the man had just delivered allowed for nothing less. "All of them?"   
     "Sorry sir, yes. All of them. The parts were faulty. We have to push the delivery date back a month. Shipping them now-"   
     Antonio fell back into his chair. "Do it. Just fix them." He breathed, "Hire more people if you have to."   
     "Hiring more-"  
     "Just get the cars out of my country!" He snapped, "Do you realize that this is nearly nineteen percent of our yearly exports?! Just get them out! Fucking vegetables are not going to keep us afloat!"   
     The worker left and he immediately felt badly. However, the guilt only fueled the rage in his innards. He was tired and he was sore and everything that could go wrong was doing so. First a forth of the crops were wiped out by drought, the unemployment rate was barely declining, and now every fucking axel rod in his factory had been made defective? And then there was this paperwork!   
     To avoid knocking the towering stack off the desktop he rose and left the room. The armory was singing to him sweet songs of battle but he knew unlocking those doors would certainly serve as suicide. No. The only way he could dirty his hands right now was in the soil, the only warmth he could bathe himself in was sunshine.   
     When he stepped outside he let it sink into his skin and finally a smile broke through. Every time the sun hit his skin the heat reminded him of sunny days spent with his cranky henchman.   
_"Hey bastard! How long you gonna be gone for this time?"_  
 _He bent to ruffle the cranky boy's hair. "Not long. A year or two."_  
 _"Make it seven!"_  
      His smile wilted. Poor Romano. He'd never wanted to leave the kid alone, but taking him along would have been dangerous. Besides, he hadn't wanted to risk losing him, hadn't wanted to ruin that innocence his fear had so well preserved.   
     And, above all, he hadn't wanted Romano to know just how much other people wanted him.


	4. No Beuno

     Romano gnawed at the end of his pen and stroked the cat beneath the desk with his bare feet. It had been a decent day. No one had annoyed him and he had managed to get all the work done, he and Feli's both. Shoving hair from his eyes he leaned back in his seat. What the hell was he supposed to do now?   
       Just as he was about to pull out his journal, his brother appeared in the doorway with his signature sigh and a light knock. "You worked so hard today~  How about pizza for dinner?"  
       Fuck yes he wanted pizza. "Yeah. Whatever."   
       "I have to go to the market. Will you watch the door for me? I'm waiting on a delivery~"   
       "I guess. Just don't dick around and get lost again, okay?"   
       "Ve~"  
       Sending his brother alone never ended well. Dammit. "I'll come with you."  
       Feli waved his hands. "No~ I can do it! Trust me~"  
       "Fine, but if you get kidnapped don't bother calling home. I won't rescue you."   
       "Ve~"  
       "And get cat food."  
       "Okay~ Just watch the door~"   
      And then Feli was gone and he was left wondering what sort of stupid delivery his sibling was expecting. It wasn't like they needed anything. They'd gotten the metals and the pharmaceuticals last week. They shouldn't need more for months. Whatever. Knowing Feliciano it was probably something useless he got conned into buying. Or maybe it was manga. That'd be fine.   
      Japan had said he'd send some.  
      He grinned and went downstairs to watch out the window. To kill the time he scrolled through Facebook and left scathing comments on dozens of posts until he felt slightly better about the world. That was until he heard the rumble of a large box truck and looked to see it parking outside the house.   
      His heart did the Tarentella. Damn that fucking Feliciano! It was Spain's god damned tomato truck. Anxiety swirled it's icy finger around in his stomach bile. It'd been nearly two years. Spain had been so busy trying to come out of his depression that there'd been hardly more than a rushed call now and then when one or the other of them had been feeling especially lonesome.   
     "Rafael!" He called out through the house, "See to the delivery!"  
     But the butler was no where to be found and asking a maid to do it would have bruised his already fragile pride. The doorbell sang out his doom and he looked down at his attire. Fucking green jogging pants and a twice worn gray tee. His hair was probably a mess too. Fuck. Fuck. Damn it. Shit. Motherf-  
      The bell called again.   
      Panic fueled his temper and he stomped to the door and flung it open with the mightiest scowl ever scowled.   
      "Oh, Roma," Spain huffed, glancing around the three crates of fruit stacked in his arms. "You look cute!"  
      "Yeah, well," he blushed and took the top crate for fear it might spill and marched to the kitchen. "you look like shit as usual, bastard."  
      But that was not the truth. It was rare for Spain to ever look less than fucktastic. That skin and those eyes and his smile made it hard to not be gorgeous. His usual look was never anything less than beautiful. Today, that was not the case. The other country looked- bad.   
      He was pale for a man who spent so much time in the sun and a murky darkness hung below eyes that had lost all luster. Even his voice had seemed- _less_. Setting the crate down on the tile he turned to find Spain had already dumped his load near the entry and went after another.   
      The idea of him carrying more than his own weight was abruptly offensive and Romano hurried out into the drive. "Hey, you tomato-bastard!" He called, "I want to talk to you!"   
      Spain smiled at him as his worker's loaded his arms again. "Sí. After the delivery is through, pequeño tomate~"   
      "No." He blatantly stepped in between the Spainard and the gate. "Let them do what you pay them for."   
     "But-"  
     "I'm the customer, right? Do you want me to leave a shitty review?"   
     "Bueno, Roma, bueno. Don't get your noddles twisted." Spain conceded weakly, passing off his parcels to another man and then looking back to him. "What is it?"  
      "You look like shit."  
      "As charming as I remember." Spain laughed and smiled and rubbed the back of his head as if the innocence of the gesture would dissuade him.  
     However, Romano could not have held back his feelings if he'd tried. And he did. Always. "Just so you know I didn't order all this." He threw his hand at the tomatoes. "It was Feliciano!"   
      "Sí, I know." The Spainard sighed, "But you'll enjoy them too."  
      "You've lost weight."   
      "I've been working hard. You should be proud of me." Still smiling, Spain pulled himself up into the back of the truck, disappearing within the shaded recesses.   
      Romano hadn't missed the tremor in his arms as he had done so. "Spain!" He growled, following the dodgy bastard inside. As he was not at all graceful he somehow managed to kick something loose and as he jumped to his feet within the shaking sent the door downwards. It closed behind him and he shrieked, staggering forward into the dark to escape injury.  
       He ran straight into Spain's arms, and immediately noticed they were thinner as the wrapped around his him. Was he-was he fading? Could he be? The thought put jagged rocks in his throat.   
       "If you wanted to be alone in the dark with me, all you had to do was ask."   
        "Shut up, bastard." He was always alone in the dark when Spain was away. "You've lost weight."   
       "Estoy bien."  
       "Fuck you, liar!" He yelled, fear making him frantic. He didn't want this man to disappear. Fuck he didn't want _anyone_ to disappear.   
       Spain kissed the top of his head and pulled him closer. "Calmése, Roma. I've just been doing a lot of work. You know that."   
        Funny. Cause he'd never come back from slaughtering nations as pale and thin as this. And even when he'd been prisoner for months, his eyes had never looked so dull. All gleam had gone from them, leaving a hollow eeriness beneath them that hurt to see. "I hate you. You're so stupid!"   
      A deep chuckle thundered in his ear. "Mhm. Cuidado," Spain murmured against the flesh of his neck. "ustedes saben que me gusta cuando se habla de esa manera para mí."  
      Warmth spread across his cheeks and lower, much lower. "I-idiota!"   
      "Te extrañe, Lovino."   
      God, he had missed him too. His heat, his smell, just his presence. But-but-the bastard tongued the lobe of his ear leaving only thought enough to breathe. He allowed himself to be spun around pressed into the hard metal bed. The chill of it on his flesh was nothing compared to the fever in his veins.  
      His traitorous hips rose to grind against the other man's stomach, earning him a deep tongue-kiss and a moan delivered straight into his mouth. He returned the gesture fervently, desperately as one large hand slid beneath his shirt and the other rubbed at his erection through the fabric that housed it.   
       This man could not die.   
       Pleasure fled him suddenly and he was able to notice the shaking of the other's breathing, the wobble in his limbs. "Spain?" He whispered, reaching blindly up to cup the man's face.   
       _Please. Not him._ He prayed, tears streaming down his face as his fingers wondered to the cross dangling from Spain's neck. "Please." He choked on a sob as the man hunched over him weakly.  
       "Lo siento, Roma. Don't cry. " His words were slurred and cumbersome as his weight increased. "Estoy b-ien..."  
        Spain collapsed atop him.  
        "Hey?" He shifted, but the other man did not move. "S-Spain?!" Nothing.  "Antonio?!" 

  
      


	5. I Fell Heavy into Your Arms

_He had to get back to the house. Roma would be defenseless. Anger welled up inside him and he forced himself up off the ground despite the screaming of his wounds and the  fatigue they caused. If he didn't hurry they would take Romano away from him. That could not happen. He could not let down that boy when everyone else had already failed.  
_ _Using his axe as a crutch he moved forward. It's handle was splintering and blade chipped, but it held and he hobbled on. Damn that England. Damn him! As he come over the rise he saw the house sitting in the valley, a sight he'd spent many months longing for. Now the view held only a dark and angry foreboding._  
 _"Romano!" He called, but his voice was weak and strangled and thus unheard. "Roma!"_  
 _He stumbled, falling hard on his face, his weapon skittering down the hill away from him. God, please. His arms gave out as he tried to rise again and he tasted blood in his mouth. Broken ribs made breathing an agony and lack of air made his vision fickle. No. "Lovi..."_  
 _Ruckus laughter from nearby filled his senses and he stifled a groan. Someone else was here. Listening, he made out only a few things but he was able to recognize that snarky accent. British soldiers, a commander among them. They gave their horses the order to move and he watched in horror as the three of them took off in the direction of his home._  
 _He rolled, with no care for dignity or his wounds. Half-broken and gasping, he used the force of his descent to aid in his standing, grabbing his fallen axe on his way down. When on two feet again he did not allow himself to slow. If he stopped, he would not start again. He let out a bellow that captured the three's attention and took out the one at the rear with a heavy strike to the chest._  
 _The effort send his head spinning but he swing blindly anyway. This time he hit nothing and earned himself a kick to the lower back that sent him staggering forward._  
 _"Well, I hadn't expected to find you at home Spain." The commander laughed, "Shouldn't you be at sea?"_  
 _He couldn't answer, not with his face in the dirt where the brit had shoved it._  
 _"Don't tell me you ran all the way here just to keep that useless little half-country safe? England doesn't even want him. Who would? Then again, I'm sure her majesty wouldn't mind another conquest."_  
 _No._  
 _"Hey! Bastards! What are you doing here?"_  
 _No!_ He came awake with Lovino's name on his lips and fear chasing tremors up his spine.   
     "Ve~ Spain~ take it easy." A familiar voice soothed, patting his hair.   
     "What are you doing here?" He inquired breathily up at the Italian.   
     "Ve~ this is my house." Feli answered, "You've been sleeping for two days."   
     Two days. "I have to go." He huffed, head spinning as he sat up. "The orders-"  
     "Mi fratello is taking care of it." The smaller man stated, half-dancing in the wooden chair he sat in. "Japan came by. You were very dehydrated. Fratello was very angry~"  
     He took a low breath, noticing the I.V in his arm and the bag it was attached to. "Roma is at my house?"  
         "Sí."   
         "Why didn't he take me with him?"  
         "Ve~" Feli sighed and rocked sideways. "He said you would just get in the way. And other things."   
         Yeah. He could imagine those other things. "Thanks for looking after me, amigo." Pulling the port out of his arm, he moved slowly to the edge of the bed as Feliciano shut off the machine. It was then that he noticed he was cathed. "Dio mio."  
        "Ve~ want me to help you? Or I can get Big Brother France, he's downstairs making-"  
        "N-no, amigo, I can do it." His cheeks heated, "Just- uh- just give me some privacy, sí?"  
         The Italian sat for a moment and then sought the door where he paused and opened his eyes.  "When you get home, don't make mi fratello cry."   
         Spain suddenly felt like prey.  "Sí, amigo I never intend to-"  
          "Capisce?"  
          "Entiendo."


	6. You're Such a Big Mess

     "Roma?" Antonio called as he entered the house. "Ro- Gilbert what are you doing here?"   
     The Prussian, who had been stirring a pot on the stove turned to look at him. "Oh~ Tony, jou are in trouble, mien friend. Kesesese~"  
     "What's going on? Where's Romano?"  
     "He's at the varehouse vorking on jour cars, or he vas, last night. Vhy didn't jou tell zhe awesome me that jou vere having troubles? Very unawesome."  
     Pride. "I only forgot to eat a few times, amigo. You know how it gets."   
    "Ja, maybe for idiots. Zhe awesome me never forgets food!"  
     It seems he'd made everyone worry and while it was good to know he had people who cared, it was also a great gaping wound to his ego to have to be coddled. The only person he ever felt comfortable being weak around was Roma but that was before, when he'd thought the Italian was still more so than him. Back when he was innocent and without stain, back before he'd seen red.   
     "Yo, stop zoning out and go run into jour lover's arms already, vhy dontchu?" Prussia patted his head with a wooden spoon, his pale face mere inches from his own. "Zhat vay jou guys have time to fuck before dinner."   
     "Dio mio."  
      "Kesesese~~ I say jou have about forty-five minutes. Zat long enough?"  
      "You look pale, amigo."  
      "Is zat a joke?" Gilbert snorted, moving away and busying himself by wiping down an already clean counter.   
       Tony didn't stay to question his friend further. Gil was often sick now and inquiring about it only served to bum the ex-country out. So instead headed around back and down the road the short distance to the warehouse. The place seemed vacant. His stomach twisted. Why? His people should be busy trying to fix those axels. "¡¿Hola!?"   
      "Hola, you tomato bastard." Roma's voice echoes from the back of the building. "It's about time."  
      The factory was empty. Not a vehicle in sight, only Romano sitting in the dim light atop a crate, one leg thrown over the other and a long wrench in his hand. There were grease smudges on his cheeks and uniform and his hair was pushed back with what appeared to be one of Belgium's forgotten headbands. It was a good look.   
However, he had very little time to appreciate it. "Where are the cars?" He inquired, hoping his anxiety didn't show in his voice.   
      "I sent them out this morning. No thanks to you." The Italian answered, an unusual hardness in his eyes. "How do you feel?"  
       "Those vehicles weren't safe! The-"   
       "Stai zitto. Do you think I am stupid?" Roma stood up, "I fixed them first, idiot."   
        All of them? How? "In just two days?" He breathed incredulously.   
       "Gilbert and the potato-bastard helped." Romano answered, "They're good with that stuff."   
       "But all of them? There were hundreds. They-"  
       "Have you eaten?"  
       "Yes but Roma I-"  
       "What and when?"  
       "Francis made me crepes this morning. I'm fine, okay? Stop worrying about it."   
       Romano smiled bitterly and it twisted a knife in his gut. "Don't worry about." He mocked, imitating his accent in a mangled and insulting manner. "Don't worry about it Roma~ I'll be back before you know it! Don't worry about it Roma~ Belgium will look after you. Don't worry about it Roma~ it's only a few small wounds~"  
       "Oh, mi tomate~" he crossed the distance between them but the tip of the wrench stayed him at an arm's length.   
       "Don't." The smaller man warned.   
       Don't? Don't what? He frowned and tried again to wrap the other country in an embrace but the wrench was prodded more fervently into his chest. "Damn it, what is the matter?" He huffed, "I'm fine. Everything is fine."  
       "Fuck you. Fine? You bastard, you don't know anything!"   
        "You're being loco!"  
        Romano let the wrench clatter to the floor, the sharp sound echoing around the empty space, like the sound of his patience shattering. "Me? Crazy? I don't think so. You want to know what's fucking loco?"  
       He was beginning to think that no, he did not. "Está bien. Calmese."   
      "Every time you left, you told me not to worry. You said that everything would be fine. And then every fucking time you would drag your bastard ass home broken. Every drop of blood made you a liar!"   
      "It was war. I didn't have a choice. What was I supposed to tell you?" He sighed, longing to kiss away the tears he saw shimmering in the Italian's eyes.   
      "It wasn't like I didn't already know." His companion hissed in return, "And I knew you liked it. That you thrived on it. I accepted that."   
      His patience was slipping. He didn't know where Roma was going with this and he didn't really care any more. He just wanted to love the tantrum out of him and move on. "Let's go back to the house. Gil's got dinner cooking."   
      A tire iron spun past his head as he turned to the exit. "I thought that shit was over!"   
      "What-" His inquiry was cut off as the Italian snagged the back of his shirt and shoved him face-first into the stack of tires he'd been passing. "Lovino what the hell are you doing?"  
      "Every time you left," Romano snarled into his ear, "I thought it'd be the last time. That you'd die."   
      The words were gentle but there was a dark inflection behind them that mad Antonio feel like prey. It was kind of hot. "I'm sorry."  
       "Cazzate."   
       "Roma-"  
       "And then you had the fucking nerve to say it was all for me. I _hated_ you for that. _Hated_ you, Antonio." Spain bit back his retort as Romano's hand undid his belt. "Because I would have much rather have gone to live in someone else's house than have you die and remain alone in your empty one." His face was pressed into the rubber and his pants were shucked down on one side. One of the Italian's hands fisted in his hair while the other slid inside the gap between trouser and hip. "You swore that day that you'd stop being such a stupid, selfish prick and yet here we are again."   
      "Mierda," through the fog of lust that had so suddenly rolled in he couldn't even remember English. "No sé por qué estás tan molesto, pero me coge si va a hacer sentir mejor."  
      Fingers circled his dick and he didn't remember Spanish either.


End file.
